This candle had a little flame.

A golden quiver suspended in a private lake

of melting alabaster.

I gave it life.

Can my thoughts fly

through this small pulsating flame?

Can it tell you of the love I have,

the loneliness I feel?

Does the smoky tendril,

easing its spiral through the icons of our faith,

bring me the warmth I need from you?

I am always sad to find a church without a candle.